


already won me over

by shellybelle



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bless Dex's Poor Gay Heart, Chowder's favorite hobbies: Chirping and Shark Collecting, M/M, Will Poindexter's Entirely Unsubtle Tattoo Fixation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 11:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11058198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellybelle/pseuds/shellybelle
Summary: The way Nursey tells the story is, “I got a new tattoo, and Dex thought it was so hot that he literally threw himself down a bunch of stairs to keep himself from confessing his undying love for me on the spot when he saw it.”Dex can't say he'd tell the story exactly like that, because he’d tell it in a way that preserves some of his dignity, but he can't say Nursey’slying, either.





	already won me over

**Author's Note:**

> me: *is sick and cranky*  
> me: *too grumpy to write angst*  
> me: nah fuck it imma write a bunch of will "too gay to function" poindexter

 

The way Nursey tells the story is, “I got a new tattoo, and Dex thought it was so hot that he literally threw himself down a bunch of stairs to keep himself from confessing his undying love for me on the spot when he saw it.”

 

Dex can't say he'd tell the story exactly like that, because he’d tell it in a way that preserves some of his dignity, but he can't say Nursey’s _lying_ , either.

 

…

 

It starts with Nursey’s tattoo.

 

Not, if Dex is being honest, the _new_ tattoo--the first one, the one he’d caught sight of in the locker room before their first practice, when he’d glanced over and seen the brown ink circling over Nursey’s bicep and thought _aw, fuck_ , mentally adding another check to the list of Stupid Gay Crush boxes that Nursey was hitting.

 

(Other boxes include: tall, broad shoulders, slim waist, smart, opinionated--even if Dex could tell after ten minutes with him that all his opinions were fucking _stupid_ \--great ass, long fingers--really he hit most of the fucking list. Fortunately, every time Nursey opens his mouth, he checks almost all of Dex’s Shit That Drives Me Crazy boxes, which is basically Dex’s saving grace.)

 

But what really fucks him over is the new tattoo.

 

The stylized tree curves over his side, the roots dipping down below the band of his jeans and the branches curling around his ribs. It’s a darker ink than the one on his bicep, a deep umber that stands out starkly against his sweat-sheened skin, and Dex, standing in the doorway of their new shared room with a box of books in his hands, _stares_.

 

Nursey, wiping sweat off his forehead with the shirt in his hands, catches sight of him. “Sup,” he says. He tosses the shirt onto the bottom bunk, which is covered in boxes. They’ve been moving in since the morning. “I’m fuckin’ dying, dude. When are you gonna work your handyman magic on the AC?”

 

Dex opens his mouth, and closes it, and opens it, and manages, “Tattoo?”

 

Nursey grins, glancing down at his side. “Yeah, got it over the summer. You like?”

 

_I want to put my mouth on it and see how far under your jeans the roots go_ , Dex thinks, and then mentally slaps himself in the face.

 

“Uh,” he says. “I, uh.” He tries, and fails, to think of something to say that won’t totally fuck him over.

 

_Retreat_ , says the strategic part of his brain. Yup, okay, he can do that. He takes a step back, and then another, then his foot hits nothing, and he topples down the stairs.

 

Fortunately, hockey’s taught him how to fall, so he manages to curl himself up so that he doesn’t totally fuck up or break anything, and by some miracle the box of books he was holding doesn’t land on his face or kill him. Still, it hurts like fuck when he hits the landing, and he groans, sprawling out on the floor.

 

Footsteps pound down the stairs and a firm hand lands on his shoulder. “Dex? Dex, dude, are you okay? Hey, look at me, man.”

 

Dex pries his eyes open and immediately wishes he hadn’t; Nursey’s eyes are wide with concern. “I’m fine,” he groans. He flexes his fingers and toes, just to make sure he’s telling Nursey the truth--he feels bruised as hell, but okay. “I’m good.”

 

Nursey’s face melts into an expression of relief. “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me. Here, c’mere.” He helps Dex sit up. “Here, take it easy. Come on.”

 

He pulls Dex’s arm over his shoulder and pulls him to his feet, hauling him up and over to the couch and dumping him down. Dex tries to ignore the fact that he’s pressed all along Nursey’s bare side, the warmth of Nursey’s skin hot against him through his own damp t-shirt. “Ow,” Dex mumbles, leaning back against the back of the couch. “That hurts like a _bitch_.”

 

“Dollar in the sin bin,” Nursey says, jostling him. Dex opens one eye and glares at him, and finds Nursey grinning. “Hey, not my fault! Sexist language, dude, them’s the rules.”

 

Dex rolls his eyes, shifting to pull his wallet out of his pocket. He yanks out a dollar and smacks it against Nursey’s chest, which is just sweat-damp enough that it sticks for a moment before it falls off, landing in his lap.

 

Nursey laughs. “Damn, Dex, just stick it in my g-string next time.” Dex chokes on nothing, and Nursey grabs the bill and rolls to his feet. “I’m gonna keep unpacking. You need me to get you some ice or anything? You good?”

 

“I’m good,” Dex says.

 

“Cool,” Nursey says. He ruffles Dex’s hair, and heads up the stairs. Dex twists to watch him go, and sees that the tattoo wraps around to his back, the branches of the tree curling around to the back of his ribcage.

 

Dex waits until Nursey rounds the corner of the landing, out of sight into their bedroom, then puts his face into the back cushion of the couch and _screams_.

 

…

 

So the thing is, Dex isn’t _out_.

 

He knows he could be. It’s Samwell, after all, he knows he’s safe here. He’s pretty sure it’s self-preservation--he doesn’t know how to be out at Samwell, but back in the closet at home.

 

Then again, he thinks, it’s probably about time he comes out at home anyway. He’s old enough that he can stand his ground against his parents if they pull any shit, but aware enough of where they stand that he’s actually pretty sure that they won’t--they’re conservative, sure, but not _throw our queer kid out on the street_ conservative.

 

This whole Nursey _thing_ would be a lot easier if he were out. It’d be an easy “hey, I think you’re hot, we should make out” _thing_. Or something like that. Instead there’s all this _baggage_ tied up in it--first he has to tell Nursey he’s _gay_ , then they’ll have to have a conversation about _feelings_ , and knowing Nursey’s romantic ass they’ll probably have to spend a few weeks making googly eyes at each other before Dex gets any action at all.

 

When really he’d kind of just like to suck Nursey’s dick and get it over with.

 

Nursey drops into the seat across from him. “Yo,” he says sleepily. “How you feeling?”

 

Dex blinks at him, train of thought derailed. “Wha?”

 

“You legit fell down the stairs yesterday,” Nursey says, lifting his own coffee mug to his lips and inhaling steam. He closes his eyes briefly, his face taking on an almost blissful expression, and Dex thinks, _fuck, you’re pretty_ , and then literally kicks himself in the ankle.

 

“Right. That. Yeah, I’m good. I’m fine.” Dex rubs his neck.

 

Nursey grins. “Thought we were gonna have to start Dex Patrol for a minute there,” he says. “And you were sober, dude. What happened, forget how to walk?”

 

Dex feels his ears heat up. “ _No_ ,” he says. “I just. I was _startled_ , okay.”

 

Nursey raises his eyebrows. “Startled,” he says dryly. “By what, my mad hot new ink?”

 

“Ha,” Dex says. _Don’t blush_ , he tells his face, which probably doesn’t listen at all, because his skin hates him. _Don’t blush, don’t blush, do not fucking blush_. “Yeah right. Do you wear that snapback all the time to keep your ego from exploding out of your head?”

 

“Ooh, Poindexter with the chirp,” Nursey laughs. “A for concept, C minus for delivery.” He sips his coffee. “What’s your day like? Practices don’t start til tomorrow.”

 

Dex shrugs. “Should be pretty open. C said he was moving in this afternoon, so I thought I’d stick around and help him when he gets here. You?”

 

“Thought I’d head to the library and get a few books out.”

 

Dex stares at him. Nursey had moved so many books into their shared room that the bookcase Lardo had left behind is groaning, and Dex is already figuring out ways to reinforce the shelves--and that’s not even counting the ones on his desk and on the windowsill. “Dude. Seriously?”

 

Nursey blinks, all innocent. “What?”

 

“Bro.” Dex shakes his head. “You have a problem.”

 

“Hey, some people are addicted to meth, okay?” Nursey grins, slow and easy. “Way better to be addicted to books.” He finishes his coffee, and gets to his feet. “I’ll be back in time to help Chowder when he moves in, promise.”

 

He leaves, putting his coffee cup in the sink. Dex watches him leave, wondering if staring at his d-man’s ass counts as being a creeper.

 

Yeah, he thinks, dropping his head onto the table. This would be _so_ much easier if he was out.

 

…

 

Chowder gets to the Haus in a cloud of turquoise and enthusiasm, and flings his arms around Dex excitedly. “We’re finally Hausmates!” he cheers, gleeful. “Dude, this is gonna be _s’wawesome_!”

 

Dex laughs, hugging him back. “Good to see you, too,” he says.

 

Chowder grins, pulling away as the driver of his Uber pops the trunk. “Who else is here?” Chowder asks, hauling his suitcases out. He’d left most of his stuff at the Haus when he’d left in May, but he still has two rolling suitcases and two more huge duffles, and Dex finds himself wondering how much of it is full of Sharks gear.

 

“Just me and Nursey right now,” Dex says, shouldering one of the duffles with a grunt and grabbing the handle of one of the rolling suitcases. “Bitty moved in, but he’s in Providence with Jack right now. I think Ollie and Wicks are due in in a few days.”

 

“Awesome!” Chowder says brightly. He waves to the Uber, which pulls away down Jason Street, and they haul Chowder’s stuff inside.

 

It’s a rough haul, up the stairs to Chowder’s room, but they’re NCAA athletes, they manage. They dump the bags inside, and Chowder flops down onto his bare mattress. “Oof,” he says. “Okay, fun times.” He picks up his head. “So, how’s it been with you and Nursey here so far?”

 

“We just got here yesterday,” Dex says.

 

Chowder studies him. “That’s not an answer.”

 

With a sigh, Dex sits down on Chowder’s floor. The floorboards are in need of a good sweeping, but whatever, he’s sat on worse. “Nursey got a new tattoo,” he says.

 

Dex isn’t _out_ out, but he is _selectively out_. “Oh,” Chowder says, grinning. “So basically you’re _fucked_.”

 

“Thanks, man,” Dex says dryly. “That’s _exactly_ what I needed to hear.”

 

“Aw, buddy.” Chowder gives him a sympathetic look. “You’ll be okay.”

 

Dex puts his face in his hands. “I fell down the stairs yesterday,” he says mournfully. “He asked me what I thought of the tattoo and instead of answering I literally walked backwards and fell down the stairs.”

 

Above him, Chowder snorts, and then starts giggling, and then cackling. Dex looks up, scowling. “You’re a big help,” he says.

 

“Oh, come on.” Chowder ruffles his hair. “It’s not so bad. You survived the last two years!”

 

“I didn’t have to _live_ with him the last two years!” Dex says. Eh, whines. He can admit when he’s whining. “And now I’m gonna see him all the time, and he’s gonna be walking around looking like miles and miles of my personal fucking fantasy, and--”

 

A door slams downstairs, and Dex snaps his mouth shut. A moment later, Nursey comes through the door. “Sup, dudes!” he says brightly.

 

“Nursey!” Chowder exclaims, launching himself off his bed and flinging himself into Nursey’s arms. Nursey catches him with a laugh, the embrace exuberant enough that Chowder’s feet actually leave the ground, and Nursey squeezes him tight before he drops him back on the floor. Chowder glances over his shoulder at Dex, his grin wicked. “Dex told me you got a new tattoo!”

 

“Fuck yeah,” Nursey says, grinning. “My moms and I did a bunch of hiking this summer, and I spent, like, two weeks just wandering in the trees? I was inspired as fuck.”

 

“Some people get inspired, they write some poems,” Dex says, leaning back against the post of Chowder’s bed. “What happened to that?”

 

Nursey laughs. “I _did_ write a bunch of poems,” he says. “I just wanted to commemorate the experience.” Almost absently, he runs his fingertips over his side, where Dex knows the ink curves over his skin under the fabric of his t-shirt. He smiles, and it’s Dex’s favorite smile, the one where his eyes go soft and gentle, a little distant, and Dex knows he’s remembering good things, mentally spinning memories into poetry that Dex’ll probably never get the chance to read. “It felt right.”

 

Chowder grins. “You should do tattoo commercials, Nursey,” he says.

 

“If the English major gig doesn’t work out, I’ll think about it,” Nursey says. He leans against the doorframe. “So guys, I think we really have to think about the big question here.”

 

Dex blinks up at him. “What’s that?”

 

Nursey puts on his saddest, most pathetic face. “Without Bitty, who’s gonna make us dinner?”

 

Dex rolls his eyes. “Dude,” he says. “Did you just live off takeout all summer?”

 

“Not ex _actly_ ,” Nursey says. “I can cook. Some things. Just not, like, _all_ the things. I can’t _Bitty_ cook.” He bats his eyelashes at Dex. “I can’t _Dex_ cook.”

 

“You’re the actual fucking worst,” Dex says, and gets to his feet.

 

…

 

“Hey,” Nursey says later, when they’re getting ready for bed. “You never told me what you thought.”

 

Dex spits out his toothpaste, rinses his toothbrush, and blinks. “Uh,” he says. “About what?”

 

Nursey grins. “About the tattoo, man.” He pulls off his sneakers and tosses them into the closet. Dex makes a face at him, and Nursey rolls his eyes, going over to pick them up and gently put them into the rack with the rest of his shoes. He makes a _ta-da_ motion, and Dex resists the urge to add “will reluctantly keep our shared room clean when asked” to his Stupid Gay Crush checklist, which Nursey is _still_ making his way through like a fucking bulldozer.

 

“Oh. That.” Dex puts his toothbrush away and flips off the bathroom light, closing the door behind him so that Chowder can use it. “I, uh. Didn’t get a good look.”

 

“Right,” Nursey says, snickering. “Because you flipped yourself down a bunch of stairs instead of looking at me.”

 

Dex laughs, but it comes out high and nervous. “Right.”

 

Nursey’s smile fades suddenly, and he lets his hand drop from the hem of his t-shirt. “Hey,” he says. “I--I was kidding, dude. If I made you uncomfortable--”

 

He looks flustered, a little embarrassed, his grey-green eyes half-lidded and clouded, and Dex realizes he’s not looking at him anymore--he’s looking away, anywhere other than Dex’s face. _Fuck_ , Dex thinks, because he knows Nursey’s expressions like he knows his own, and this is _I Pushed Too Far and I Fucked Up_ , and that’s not what happened, _Nursey_ didn’t push him, not really, this is just--

 

“I like it,” he blurts.

 

Nursey looks surprised. “What?”

 

“Your tattoo,” Dex says, because fuck it, he’s in this deep. “I like it.” He clears his throat. “Like, a lot.”

 

Nursey opens his mouth, hesitates, and then closes it. “I thought you said you didn’t get a good look.”

 

Dex swallows. “I didn’t.”

 

“Do you--” Nursey takes a step toward him. Not close, they’re not _close_ , but close enough that Dex can see the faint tremble in Nursey’s hands. “Do you want to see it again?”

 

Ninety-nine percent of the time, Dex enforces a stern filter between his very, very gay brain and his mouth.

 

This one time, he decides to indulge it. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice comes out breathy and hoarse.

 

In one smooth, easy motion, Nursey pulls his shirt over his head.

 

The tattoo looks just like he remembered it, dark brown ink in strong, thick lines. Now, though, Dex lets himself look, at the stretch of the branches, the shading on the trunk, the way the branches taper and thin as they reach along Nursey’s ribcage up to his shoulder blade, as if they’ve been caught in a wind.

 

Dex reaches out, hesitant. “Can I,” he says, before he can stop himself.

 

Nursey nods. His eyes are set on Dex’s, and Dex’s mouth feels very, _very_ dry. “Yeah.”

 

With shaking fingers, Dex touches one of the branches, just over one of Nursey’s ribs. His skin is warm and firm, and doesn’t give under Dex’s touch. He can feel it when Nursey breathes in and out, the slightest jump of Nursey’s pulse, the faint rippling of goosebumps on his skin as Dex’s touch lingers.

 

“Fuck,” Dex breathes, before he can stop himself. “I am _so_ gay.”

 

And then he jolts himself out of his Nursey-induced idiocy and says, “what?” just as Nursey says “ _what_?” and--

 

Nursey takes a step back, trips over his own feet, and starts to fall, and Dex puts out a hand to grab him but over-balances, and they both go crashing to the floor, landing in a sprawled heap. Dex allows himself half a second to think _fuck he’s nice to land on_ before reality kicks in, and he scrambles backwards, accidentally kicking Nursey in the ribs as he does.

 

“Ow,” Nursey complains.

 

“Fuck,” Dex says. “Shit, _sorry_.”

 

Nursey makes an unhappy face at him, sitting up. “ _Bro_ ,” he says.

 

Dex buries his face in his hands, his cheeks flaming. “Sorry,” he says again.

 

“Dude, it’s fine, you’ve kicked me harder in practice--”

 

“Not for that,” Dex says, picking his head up. “For like, fucking objectifying you, and--”

 

Nursey raises his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah. That,” he says, and he’s using his _Fake Chill_ voice, and Dex _hates_ that voice, but Nursey keeps talking. “Since when are you gay?”

 

“Since birth?” Dex says, dryly. He’s kind of in panic mode now, and his brain defaults to sarcastic and obnoxious. “Pretty sure Lady Gaga wrote a song about it.”

 

“Oh, sure, be that guy,” Nursey says. He narrows his eyes. “You don’t seem to be having, like, a big gay freakout right now.”

 

Dex shakes his head. “Nope. Had that in like...seventh grade.” He cracks a smile. “Sorry, bro.”

 

Nursey nods slowly. “Cool, cool.” He licks his bottom lip, because Dex can’t catch a fucking break. “So this is about…”

 

“You,” Dex says. And then, because maybe that’s not clear. “My thing. For you.”

 

Another slow nod. “Your thing for me,” Nursey says. “Which is a...non-platonic thing.” Dex nods. “Just like...a sexual thing?”

 

Dex’s face is on _fire_. “Dude,” he complains. “Come on.”

 

Nursey puts his hands up. “I’m just trying to figure out--”

 

“All of it, okay?” Whatever, he’s already in this deep. “I’ve had this stupid fucking crush on you since freshman year, and you keep getting hotter, and this new tattoo, bro, what the _fuck_ , are you actually trying to _kill me_ , I’m not a fucking saint, okay, I can only live with so--”

 

Nursey leans over to him and cups his face between his hands, and Dex’s voice dies in his throat. “Dex,” he says. “Can I kiss you?”

 

“I know you really believe in consent,” Dex says, because he is an idiot, “but it kind of takes some of the sexy spontaneity out of it when you ask.”

 

Nursey’s lips curve. “Is that a yes?”

 

Dex leans forward and kisses him.

 

It’s a warm, easy kiss. They’re both grinning too broadly to really get tongues involved, but their lips meet again, and again and again, and Dex pushes Nursey back onto the floor, and gets a hand around his ribs, splaying his fingers right where he knows the branches are reaching and spreading. Nursey hums against his mouth, pleased, and rocks his hips up gently against him.

 

Dex draws back, flushed. “Uh, I’m not--”

 

Nursey smiles, lazy and content. “’s chill, Dex,” he says, sparing Dex the _hello I’m a virgin and I’m super into you but I don’t wanna dive right into orgasms_ speech. He runs his hands over Dex’s sides, then along his neck, and then cups his cheeks again. “It’s bedtime anyway, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Dex agrees. Bedtime is good. He can do bedtime. “Bedtime sounds good.”

 

“Nice.” Nursey waits until Dex stands, and then rolls up to his own feet. “But like, my bed, right?” He casts a nervous glance up at the top bunk. “Because, like, not to be a baby, but--”

 

Dex rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, yes, your bed, you huge loser.” He loops an arm around Nursey’s neck and pulls him in for a quick kiss. “You’d fall out of mine in the middle of the night.”

 

Nursey looks slightly affronted. “Not if I took the wall side,” he says defensively.

 

“Knowing you?” Dex grins, sitting down on Nursey’s bed. “Probably even if you took the wall side.” He holds out a hand. “Coming?”

 

“You bet.” Nursey starts to reach for his shirt, abandoned on the desk.

 

“Um,” Dex says. Nursey pauses, glancing over his shoulder at him. Cheeks flaming, Dex says, “Could you, uh. Leave it off?”

 

A slow, broad grin curves Nursey’s lips. “You got a little tattoo kink, William?”

 

Dex flushes darker, then says, “Coming or not?”

 

Nursey grins, balls his t-shirt up and throws it into the corner, and comes to bed.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> nursey's tattoo inspired by [this](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/41/1b/1b/411b1bceceb8633e91462cd04d495e50.jpg), but without the dreamcatchers bc we know our boy wouldn't hold with that cultural appropriation nonsense. RIP william poindexter, 1996-2016, you poor gay soul. we hardly knew ye. 
> 
> SOMETIMES I CAN WRITE THINGS THAT AREN'T ANGST OK. LIKE. 2% OF THE TIME. IT'S A THING I CAN DO.
> 
> wanna have feelings about this with me? come chill with me on tumblr, @geniusorinsanity.


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